Queso Warmed Over
by Night Monkey
Summary: Dean picks a fight with the wrong hammer-wielding pagan god and ends up dead. Good thing Death is there to keep him company. And provide snacks.


This one-shot was a sudden, vicious, _When-Animals-Attack-_style mauling by the plot bunnies. I never stood a chance.

There are a couple of little spoilers for Season 8, FYI. Oh, and be on the lookout for a wild _Psych_ reference.

* * *

Dean was getting more than a little sick and tired of these pagan gods, especially since they all seemed to be in an unspoken contest to out-dick each other. Screwing with time, eating people, auctioning off Kevin, cursing Prometheus to an eternity of daily death, that all sucked royally.

But Thor, damn it, Thor might have just taken first place for biggest, meanest bastard of them all.

Dean sat up and groaned. He'd just had what felt like a billion volts forced through his body by one huge, buff, pissed-off Norse god of thunder. And it had _hurt_.

But now it didn't.

The realization hit Dean with the same force the lightning just had. He'd been electrocuted before, both by Zeus and by a much more insidious device known as a Taser, and he sure as hell hadn't shaken either zap off so quickly.

Dean, his body suddenly chilled to the core, forced himself to his feet. His knees shook and he almost ended up on his ass. It was only after he gave himself a swear-laden pep talk that he got his legs to lock securely.

His nerves steeled, Dean turned around. For as prepared as he thought he was, one look at the object on the ground, smoke languidly curling from it, drained all the strength from Dean's legs. He collapsed to his knees and decided even that position was too wearying. He fell further back until he was sitting with his legs outstretched in front of him.

"Crap," Dean muttered, covering his eyes with his hands. "Crap, crap, shit."

Dean had just begun to wallow in despair when something distracted him from his adversity and misfortune. It was an amazing smell, sweet and cheesy, that was about as at-home in the dank, cold atmosphere as Dean was at home in swank garden parties. Dean uncovered his eyes in hopes of seeing where the tantalizing odor was coming from.

Instead of finding a tray of precious empty calories, Dean found a gaunt face peering down at him. Wordlessly, the man standing above Dean extended a hand to him. Dean accepted the hand and was pulled to his feet.

"I guess that pretty much settles it then. I'm dead. Again." Just in case seeing his own prostrate body, the eyes half open and vacant, hadn't been proof enough.

"I'm afraid so, Dean," Death replied. "Though if it's any consolation, you aren't in so many pieces this time."

Dean grinned wryly. "Yeah, at least there's that. I was just wasted by Thor, not freakin' hellhounds."

"And I do have one more consolation for you," Death said.

"What?"

The Horseman deposited a golden-brown ball of deep-fried goodness into Dean's hand.

Dean shrugged and popped the snack into his mouth. "Oh man, this is awesome. I don't even know what it is, but it almost makes being dead okay!"

Death grinned, and even his sunken countenance was brightened by a smile. Not that many people got to see Death smile and could attest to this.

"They're called fries _quatro queso dos fritos_ and are a culinary singularity," Death said. "Only found in one restaurant in Santa Barbara."

"I'm torn between that being a good thing and the saddest thing I ever heard. 'Cause on one hand, I want to eat this forever. But then on the other hand, I'd be like eight hundred pounds by next week." Dean paused and considered what he was saying. "I mean, if I was alive. Dead people don't get fat, do they?"

The Horseman shook his head.

"Dead people don't really eat, either. So how am I eating now? Because that's my body over there. I rode the lightning, but here I am, eating the greatest food ever, and it tastes just like I'm alive."

"I could explain it to you," Death offered.

"Wait, let me guess. You could explain it, but it would be all sorts of metaphysical crap about souls and miracles and the spiritual realm, and I wouldn't understand anyway. So I should just enjoy it and shut up. Which is exactly what I'm going to do. Got any more of those sexy little things?"

Death offered Dean a Styrofoam box of crispy heaven. Dean dug in. As he shoveled cheesy treats into his pie-hole, he marveled at how perfectly each one was cooked. Normally, with food stuffed with any sort of condiment, the interior was always either still cold or comparable to the depths of hell and sure to leave third degree burns. These nibbles were hot and crispy outside, and equally delectable inside. Leave it to Death to find the most perfect food in the universe.

Dean mumbled something through a mouthful of food. Then he realized he was acting like a barbarian in front of the last Horseman of the Apocalypse and swallowed before trying to speak again.

"Sorry, I spend so much time around Sam I forget manners even exist. I wanted to ask why we're just hanging out, eating and talking about turning into sumo wrestlers. Shouldn't you be reaping me or something?" Dean asked.

"Shall I?" Death replied. "If you're eager to leave, I will certainly oblige you."

"No! Or yes, if you want to, 'cause you're definitely in charge here. I don't mind. I just don't want to end up a ghost or get Tessa mad at me, or watch my body turn into an oozy puddle," Dean said.

Death chuckled. "You won't do any of those things. I promise."

"Thanks. I… Can you do me a favor?" Dean asked.

"If it's within my power. And very little isn't."

"Tell Sam." Dean stopped to wipe at his eyes. Hey, dead people could cry as well as stuff their faces! "Tell Sam I believe in him. He is strong enough to complete those trials and close the gates of hell. And tell him, if he ever meets Thor, not to mention _The Avengers_ because that really pisses him off. And tell him I love him, and not to do anything stupid to bring me back."

Death nodded solemnly.

"May I now tell you something, Dean?" the Horseman asked.

"Dude, you're _Death_. You can tell anybody anything," Dean replied.

"Over seventy percent of people struck by lightning survive."

"Fun fact— Wait. WHAT?!"

Death pointed behind Dean, to the room's single door. A moose in human form barreled through the door nearly hard enough to knock it from its hinges.

"Dean? Dean!" Sam exclaimed, seeing his brother sprawled motionless on the floor.

"Sam! Come on, Sammy, do…something!" Dean shouted.

Sam knelt at his brother's side and checked for a pulse.

"Look at me, I'm dead! You're wasting time and I'm getting closer to brain damage! Just start the mouth-to-mouth. Oh my God, I hope Becky never hears about this."

Dean turned away from Sam for a moment to face Death again. "I'm so sorry Sam and I summoned you and bound you and tried to make you kill Cas. Please don't tell Becky about this as revenge. Because I totally would rather be dead."

The Horseman remained mute and Dean had no choice but to hope Death was a forgiving soul. Fingers crossed, Dean spun around to see what Sam and his dead body were up to.

Sam had apparently not found a pulse, and was performing CPR. Dean had never had the opportunity to experience first-hand what CPR felt like when it was administered by his gigantic younger brother, but it looked like he was going to end up with some cracked ribs and internal bleeding. Small price to pay to restart a heart, but yeesh. Dean was not looking forward to the bruises those gorilla hands were surely leaving.

"Do be more careful around pagan gods from now on, won't you?" Death asked. "Particularly the ones with big hammers."

"Hell yeah. Hey, does that mean I'm about to—" Dean never got a chance to finish, as at that moment, his former corpse became an inhabited, plain old person again.

Dean gasped and arched up, life—and pain—flooding his body. Sam was so startled by his brother's heaving resurrection that the younger Winchester floundered and fell flat on his ass. Dean had no idea that he'd almost scared Sam into cardiac arrest, and was too busy panting and clutching his aching chest to care very much.

After a few minutes of groaning in pain and trying to work the lingering effects of lethal electrocution—namely a tingling in his extremities and a bitter, burned metallic taste—out of his system, Dean was composed enough to reply to the barrage of questions Sam had been flinging at him like a siege-machine.

"No, Sam, calm down, I'm alright. I don't need a hospital. Ouch, maybe I spoke too soon. That is going to be some funky colors in the morning. Son of a bitch, don't touch it!" Dean swatted Sam's hand.

"What the hell even happened here, Dean?" Sam asked.

"I met Thor, and Joss Whedon lied to me. Thor is not a hero, he's a giant roid-monster. But he does have a hammer and he does control electricity. So Whedon wasn't totally wrong," Dean replied.

Sam could have grabbed Dean and shaken him. "Why didn't you call me? I could have been here in two minutes."

"I didn't have two minutes! He was leaving and I thought I could stop him. Which, in retrospect, is stupid beyond belief, because even by your standards, this guy was a beast."

"You're just lucky I saw the lightning and got here in time," Sam said. Then, after a pause, "Do you remember being dead?"

Dean rubbed his forehead. "Kinda. Death was there, and, oh, Sammy, we gotta go!"

"Where?"

"Santa Barbara!"

"Dean, that's halfway across the country. Why do we have to go there? Is Thor going there?"

"I sure as hell hope not. And if he is, he better stay away from my fries."

The End

Thanks for reading.


End file.
